


Rings

by Deastar



Series: To Be Seen Aright [10]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Established Relationship, F/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, except a greater understanding of existing relationships!, that come to nothing, which is valuable in and of itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: Watching Marc closely, Vero offers, “You’ve liked it, when we’ve invited a third to join us.”Marc does like it, very much, when he and Vero have found a suitable sub to bring into their bed for a night or two. But… “That is different,” he points out. “Those were, mm, hook-ups,” he uses the English word, “but Sid couldn’t be just that.”or, the tale of another of Vero's attempts to add Sid to her harem.
Relationships: Marc-Andre Fleury/Veronique Fleury
Series: To Be Seen Aright [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/927903
Comments: 86
Kudos: 274





	Rings

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up after the scene in To Be Seen Aright where Vero and Sid are discussing how he should behave when he comes over for the housewarming party and Flower interrupts them right as Vero is about to drop a truth bomb about how not all doms are the same (worst timing, Flower!).

Vero props herself up on her elbow. “Sidney,” she says.

Marc knows what she means, but he can’t resist shaking his head, pointing at himself, and responding, “No, Marc-Andre.”

She smacks him on the chest, hard enough to make a satisfying _crack_. “I worry about him,” she says.

“I do, too, sometimes,” Marc says carefully. “But he is strong. He’s in a good place, I think.”

Vero makes a diplomatic humming sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing. “He is so closed-mouthed about dynamic things. So uncomfortable talking about them. I feel like… I don’t know! He is a dear friend. And I wish… I wish he had someone to take care of him.”

Marc ponders whether to take the delicate approach, and allow this conversation to wind its way all around and up and down for the next five minutes, or whether to be blunt. It’s late, so he chooses blunt. “And you wish that someone was you.”

“Marc-Andre!” Her lips make a charming “o” of surprise… but after a moment, her expression melts into a rueful smile. “Well. Perhaps. Am I so transparent?”

“To me? Always.” He tilts his head up for a kiss, reaffirming their connection, and she obliges him.

Watching him closely, she offers, “You’ve liked it, when we’ve invited a third to join us.”

Marc does like it, very much, when he and Vero have found a suitable sub to bring into their bed for a night or two. But… “That is different,” he points out. “Those were, mm, _hook-ups_,” he uses the English word, “but Sid couldn’t be just that.”

“No,” she agrees, very serious. “Some friends, perhaps, could take it that lightly, but I don’t think that Sidney could.”

“I don’t think _I_ could, with Sid,” Marc adds, because he’s not sure she knows that.

“That is fair.” She peers at him, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t like the idea,” she observes. “But I don’t think it is because you are jealous. Why, then?”

Marc weighs his words with care. “I think it would be one thing if you and I wanted Sid to join us because we loved him. And for me, for my part…” Now he’s a little worried about _her_ feeling jealous. “For my part, I could,” he confesses. “I do love Sid. But that’s not where you are coming from. And I think if Sid heard that you want him to join us because you think he’d be better off with a dom taking care of him… I don’t think he’d appreciate that at all. I think he’d feel very hurt.”

Vero frowns. “Really? You don’t think he wants to be taken care of?”

“That’s not what I said. He may or may not want that. I don’t know. But I know he doesn’t like it when people _assume_ that he’s… that he’s _missing_ that.”

“Mmm.” Vero ponders that, tracing circles on Marc’s chest with one fingernail. “It is not a nice feeling,” she says finally, “to have people assume that there’s some particular thing that you must be missing, or dissatisfied with, when in fact you are perfectly content.”

Marc’s heart skips a beat – his eyes are drawn to hers. “Perfectly content?” he whispers, searching her face for confirmation.

She meets his gaze and her face softens, indulgent. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she bends to press a kiss to his forehead, then his lips, and then his collar. “Of course I am. How could I not be?”

Marc takes a slow breath in and then lets it out as a wide smile spreads across his face. He shifts onto his side and buries his face in the crook of Vero’s neck, trying to hold himself together. It’s foolishness, of course – he put the task of holding him together into other hands long ago, and it’s those hands that keep him together now, one wrapped around the back of his neck, one fisted tight in his hair. He is hers, and she knows that and asserts it on his body, and that settles the wild beating of his heart.

When he rolls onto his back again, looking up at her, her smile quirks at the corner of her mouth, rueful. “Perfectly content _except_,” she says, poking him in the ribs, “that my submissive will not let me invite his _very beautiful_ best friend into our bed—”

“What is this ‘won’t let,’ I don’t ‘let’ or ‘not let’ you do anything,” Marc interjects, rolling his eyes at the whole idea.

“As it should be,” she agrees.

“As it should be.” Marc tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and says fondly, “You’re just mad you can’t have a harem, like a queen from the old days.”

She sniffs. “Don’t be silly, I can’t afford a harem.”

“I notice you’re not saying you don’t _want_ one,” Marc says, lifting an eyebrow.

“We-ell…” Vero trails off, and when she meets Marc’s eyes, the two of them dissolve into laughter.

When they’ve settled down from that, Vero scoots a little closer and peers at him, narrowing her eyes. “Does it bother you?” _That I covet other subs_, she means.

Marc shakes his head. “No. You could have a harem the size of my whole team, and I wouldn’t care. As long as I got to be chief concubine,” he adds, grinning.

“You would not be _chief concubine_, foolish man,” she announces, matching his grin. “You would be chief _husband_!”

Marc’s heart skips a beat for the second time tonight. They’re just joking around, he knows that, and he tries not to react—

But Vero pauses, too, and closes her eyes for a long minute. When she opens them again, she looks… tired. It hurts Marc to see that weariness on her face.

She says quietly, “Forgive me, my love. I know I promised not to mention it again.”

“It—it’s all right,” Marc rushes to say, “I know you didn’t mean it—”

“Didn’t _mean_ it?” The edge in her voice silences him. When she looks down at him, he can’t read her at all. In a low voice, she says, “I promised not to mention it. And I have not. But I have not changed my mind. How could you think—” Her hand curls into a fist on his chest, and she looks away.

Marc doesn’t know what to say. They _haven’t_ talked about it, after that first time, when she asked him on his draft day. He doesn’t know how she feels now; he’s not sure how _he_ feels. He’s tried not to think about it, in the years since – about the one and only time he’s denied Vero something she asked for.

“It’s been years,” she says. So often, their thoughts run along the same track. “I have not wavered in my faithfulness to you. We are here, we are—we are happy.” In a small voice, she adds, “Or at least, I am.” She places her hand on his cheek and turns his face toward her until he can’t escape her gaze. “Is it enough? Do you… do you trust me enough, now?”

“_Trust_ you enough—” Marc is floored – he almost doesn’t believe his ears. “Veronique, it was never that I didn’t _trust_ you, that’s not why—”

“It was,” she says, calm.

It goes against all of Marc’s instincts to contradict her, but he can’t let her get this so wrong. “It _wasn’t_ about trust,” he insists. “We were both so young – just kids. It was too soon—”

“You had been mine for _years_ already.”

“—and it was my draft day, I’d just gotten picked first overall, my whole life was about to change – it wasn’t the right time to make a big decision like—like getting married. I was about to move to another country and start… living in this whole new way,” he explains, conscious of the strangeness of making his case now, years later, when he’d held all this close to his chest back then – she’d accepted his refusal without asking for an explanation, and it kills him to know what his silence led her to believe for all these years. “There was going to be this rush of—of attention, money, pressure—”

“Power,” she says quietly, and Marc’s voice dies in his throat. “That’s what those things—the money, the attention, the worship of the fans—add up to,” she continues, still holding his gaze. “You were about to become more powerful than most subs could ever imagine. More powerful than I was or would ever be. You knew that. And you thought that I did not. You thought that, once I saw that power, I would resent it. That I would change my mind. That I would not want to be bound to you anymore. And _that_,” she says, implacable, “is a lack of trust.”

Marc opens his mouth, but only breath comes out. He feels flayed open, like the soft, red insides of his body are exposed, and he knew she could do that to him—he loves her for doing that to him—but he didn’t know she could do it like this, with just words. He can’t move, can’t speak – can’t make this fit in his head. He thought he knew himself. But she knew him better. He should have known.

“You thought I did not know what I was asking for,” she tells him – now her voice is shaking, and her hand against his cheek is, too. “You thought that once I realized what it would be like, to be the wife of an NHL star, I would regret it. That I would resent living off of your income, in a home bought with your money, to go out and see you recognized in the street, you famous and important and beloved, and me just your wife. But I _do not give a shit_,” she says, fierce, all the wavering in her voice suddenly replaced with steel. “I never did. I only ever, in all the world, wanted you, my love. Only ever you. Do you believe me now? Do you trust, now, finally, that I mean it?”

Marc is breathing as if he’s run a mile. They both are. She waits for him to answer.

“Forgive me.” Marc scrapes the words out of his throat.

“None of that, my love,” she says immediately, like a warning. “_None_ of that. When a dom does not have her submissive’s trust, it is because she has not _earned_ that trust. No dom is ever _entitled_ to be trusted, and you are _never_ to apologize for not trusting me. Not ever.”

Marc ponders that, and finds no fault with it. “Yes. That’s true. Yes.” He turns his head to lay a kiss on her palm. “But I hurt you,” he says, low. “And I hope you will let me apologize for _that_.”

Vero draws in a shaky breath. “I will allow it.”

She lowers her head until their foreheads are pressed together. Marc lets his breathing fall into sync with hers as he tries to make room in his head for what he’s just learned. At the time—at nineteen, for fuck’s sake, what an idiot—he’d thought he was making a rational, mature decision. He was proud of himself, even, for doing the sensible thing instead of giving in to what he wanted more than anything: to be hers in every possible way. But instead, he’d acted out of fear – fear that he didn’t even realize he had. And he’d hurt her. All this time, she’d thought _she_ had failed _him_—failed to earn his trust, failed to prove herself worthy of his commitment—when nothing could be farther from the truth. He wants her to know that.

Into the quiet inch of air between their lips, Marc murmurs, “I… it wasn’t that I didn’t trust _you_. It wasn’t.” She pulls back a little, frowning; Marc explains, “It was more that I didn’t… trust _doms_. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“Ah.” Vero nods, and breathes out, slow and deeply. “It does. It… thank you.” She presses her forehead back down against his, just for a moment, then kisses him on the lips. “That helps me understand. A lot.”

All of a sudden, Marc realizes, that he never actually answered her question. “Yes,” he says, “yes, it’s enough,” as quickly as he can, almost stumbling over the words in his haste. “Yes, I trust—I trust you to stay. To want to stay. Forever. I have for… a long time.”

Vero smiles. Very quietly, she says, “I hoped so. I wasn’t sure, but I—I hoped.” Then she frowns, just a little. “Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

Marc blinks. “Say anything about…” When he realizes what she’s asking, his eyebrows fly up toward his hairline. “_I _can’t ask _you_ to marry me,” he responds, scandalized. “I am your _sub_.”

“But _I_ had promised not to ask _you_, so… what, we would have just waited _forever_ unless I made a stupid joke?”

Marc plasters his hand over his face. “I hope not,” he mutters, but he has the mortifying feeling they might have done just that.

Vero groans and flops down onto her back next to him. “We are ridiculous.”

Marc can’t disagree.

After a moment, Vero reaches for his hand – without looking, she twines their fingers together. “Marc-Andre,” she says.

“_Maitresse_,” he replies. He keeps the _yes_ on his tongue, biding his time. But she doesn’t make him wait long.

“Will you marry me?”

He squeezes her hand. “Yes,” he whispers. He should have said it years ago. But they got here in the end. That’s what matters.

For most subs, a wedding ring is the only ring they’ll ever wear. Because of his hockey, Marc may—Marc really fucking hopes he _will_—have a Cup ring, too, someday. He’d thought, back then, that he had to choose. To pick one or the other.

It occurs to Marc, for the first time: _Maybe that’s what Sid thinks_. Maybe that’s why Sid is so adamant that he doesn’t want a dom.

But then again, maybe not. Vero wasn’t wrong when she said Sid is closed-mouthed about dynamic things. Marc doesn’t want to be one of those people who assumes that what Sid wants is different from what he says he wants.

And, although it makes Marc sad and angry to think about it, if that _is_ what Sid thinks, he might be right. He and Marc are different people, who want different things. When Vero slides that wedding ring on Marc’s finger, that will be the ring of Marc’s dreams. He never wanted a captain’s ring – a position of authority, or power. If he did…

Well, Vero would still want him anyway. _Only ever you_, she’d told him, and he believes her. But not all doms would. Not even most, probably.

“You look sad, my love,” Vero says softly.

Marc admits, “Thinking about Sid.”

“Ha!” With an air of triumph, she pops up on her elbow and jabs him in the side with her index finger. “See? _See_? You worry about him, too!”

“I never said I didn’t,” Marc says, rolling his eyes. He twists around to his side so he can pull her close. “But I also said he is strong, and I think he is doing well.”

“Well. If that changes, you will let me know,” she commands.

Marc will, of course—because she told him to, and more importantly, because Sid is her friend, too—but he can’t resist raising an eyebrow and saying, “Now that you’ve got the chief husband sewn up, it’s time to start recruiting the concubines, eh?”

Vero’s jaw drops in outrage. “Oh! Oh, you—” She starts prodding him furiously in the ribs again, jabbing him mercilessly until he’s squirming away and laughing, trying to escape. “It would serve you right if I _were_, you impossible man!”

“Your impossible _husband_,” he says, relishing the sound of it, even though they’re not married yet. That’s just a formality.

Vero must agree, because she repeats, “My husband,” and she pauses her revenge long enough to share a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback is loved! Even just copying and pasting a line that stood out to you means a lot.
> 
> I know it's been a while since I posted anything, and I missed you! It's been a combination of an absolutely wild time at work and me turning my attention mostly to a new long fic, and so not having time to devote to shorter pieces. But this one is finally done, and there'll be more shorter pieces to come. Thanks for your patience! Stay home if you can, and stay safe if you can't stay home. <3


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